A postscript to the new Bath guide A Poem by Anthony Pasquin [i.e. John Williams] |
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 | A postscript to the new Bath guide |  |
Ecod here we are—now you'll say I'm a rover,
For to come all this way, and to live in such clover:
Sir Toby Beefsuet, the Ladies, and I,
Came cramm'd in a coach, like tit-bits in a pye:
My dead Missisis sister, you know that's her way,
Miss Tabby Belweather, would come in a shay:
Your favourite Roger, and Dick who so cross is,
Came riding down a'ter on hackheney horses:
I think Roger and Dick tore their breeches together,
For I heard Roger say that they both had lost leather!
On Maulburrur Downs we were werry much frighten'd,
And Sir Toby said how that his purse would be lighten'd:
For he saw a huge robber—this story distrest us—
But the man gallop'd on, and ne'er stopp'd to mislest us.
For to come all this way, and to live in such clover:
Sir Toby Beefsuet, the Ladies, and I,
Came cramm'd in a coach, like tit-bits in a pye:
My dead Missisis sister, you know that's her way,
Miss Tabby Belweather, would come in a shay:
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Came riding down a'ter on hackheney horses:
I think Roger and Dick tore their breeches together,
For I heard Roger say that they both had lost leather!
On Maulburrur Downs we were werry much frighten'd,
And Sir Toby said how that his purse would be lighten'd:
For he saw a huge robber—this story distrest us—
But the man gallop'd on, and ne'er stopp'd to mislest us.
Young Misses have been to a consort 'mong Play'rs,
I heard Bella say 'twas to larn some new airs:
If that was the case, she'd no need to be sent there,
For I'll swear she'd enow before ever she went there:
They went fine as fippence—Miss Dy's a good creter,
I'm sure hands and pins coodint make 'em look neater:
They were both tall and straight as the popular tree,
Miss Dy had got on her brown niggledygee;
She look'd like an angel, so ruddy and plump,
And wore, the first time, her new Polinac rump.
And as for the vhite and the red on her cheek,
She need ne'er turn her back any day in the veek.
I am sartin we us'd a large bowl full at least
Of starch, for to stiffen some gauze for the breast;
Where it boug'd like them pouters we once saw at Preston,
Whose craws were much bigger you know than the rest-on.
To 'scort our young Madams, a gentleman came,
A perdigious fine presense—I'll tell you his name—
One Captain O'Blarney—so lac'd and so sleek,
A more properer man you won't see in a veek:
I should like such a lovyer—a spruce handsome feller,
Oh! he sith'd out quite loud as he handed Miss Bella
From the drawing-room stair-case all down to the carriage—
But Sir Toby, they say, won't consent to their marriage.
Because why, that the Captain's too poor for the match;
I am sure I think Bella is no such great catch!
But his wants will soon end—I heard Miss Bell relate,
That he'd got an aversion to some great estate:
I can't tell where he's born—whether Scot or Bavarian,
But Sir Toby says how he's an any-thing-arian!
I heard Bella say 'twas to larn some new airs:
If that was the case, she'd no need to be sent there,
For I'll swear she'd enow before ever she went there:
They went fine as fippence—Miss Dy's a good creter,
I'm sure hands and pins coodint make 'em look neater:
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Miss Dy had got on her brown niggledygee;
She look'd like an angel, so ruddy and plump,
And wore, the first time, her new Polinac rump.
And as for the vhite and the red on her cheek,
She need ne'er turn her back any day in the veek.
I am sartin we us'd a large bowl full at least
Of starch, for to stiffen some gauze for the breast;
Where it boug'd like them pouters we once saw at Preston,
Whose craws were much bigger you know than the rest-on.
To 'scort our young Madams, a gentleman came,
A perdigious fine presense—I'll tell you his name—
One Captain O'Blarney—so lac'd and so sleek,
A more properer man you won't see in a veek:
I should like such a lovyer—a spruce handsome feller,
Oh! he sith'd out quite loud as he handed Miss Bella
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But Sir Toby, they say, won't consent to their marriage.
Because why, that the Captain's too poor for the match;
I am sure I think Bella is no such great catch!
But his wants will soon end—I heard Miss Bell relate,
That he'd got an aversion to some great estate:
I can't tell where he's born—whether Scot or Bavarian,
But Sir Toby says how he's an any-thing-arian!
T'other day Roger came a colloging to me,
He's a tongue that would vheedle a bird from a tree:
Aye Roger, I know you, says I, I'm no dunce,
If you mean for to marry—why say so at once:
I think the false-hearted to jail all should be sent,
I'm like Dolly Plainways—I hates what's clandecent:
I was one on his taw—though he'd call'd me his dear,
He now slunk away—with a flea in his ear.
He's a tongue that would vheedle a bird from a tree:
Aye Roger, I know you, says I, I'm no dunce,
If you mean for to marry—why say so at once:
I think the false-hearted to jail all should be sent,
I'm like Dolly Plainways—I hates what's clandecent:
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He now slunk away—with a flea in his ear.
Last Tuesday I went with our Dick and some more,
And stood and peep'd in at the great Pump-Room door,
Where the quality go—and as I was a saying,
I heard about twenty musicianers playing:
There some was a walking, and some was a thinking,
And some was a talking, and some was a drinking;
And some look'd below at the bathers, and smil'd,
And some came out coddled as if they'd been bil'd!
I ax'd if they'd robb'd or done crimes that was bigger,
No, they stew'd 'em they said for to give 'em new wiggur.
Then a chairman came up with a monsterous frown,
And said—by your leave, and he then push'd me down.
And stood and peep'd in at the great Pump-Room door,
Where the quality go—and as I was a saying,
I heard about twenty musicianers playing:
There some was a walking, and some was a thinking,
And some was a talking, and some was a drinking;
And some look'd below at the bathers, and smil'd,
And some came out coddled as if they'd been bil'd!
I ax'd if they'd robb'd or done crimes that was bigger,
No, they stew'd 'em they said for to give 'em new wiggur.
Then a chairman came up with a monsterous frown,
And said—by your leave, and he then push'd me down.
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Pray wou'd you believe it? Indeed I don't joke,
Old Tabby Belweather last night had a stroke!
This affair has thrown all in a serious quandary,
Our folk say as how she came down here to marry:
I saw her next day in the bed lye a gasping,
As pale as your shift, and she shook like an aspen;
This misfortin wou'd sure make a werry great rout,
But we're sworn to be silent, and dare not speak out.
A Doctor's been here, a fine man, though a stranger,
And said “This here Lady's in no such wast danger,
“For I hope by some dipping and medical arts,
“To restore all her tones, and to brace up her parts.”
Poor thing!—if these desperate doings should ruin her—
And who knows but it may, for they now talk of stewing her.
Oh! the palsy's a terrible ill I assure you,
It transmogrifies quite, and there's few that can cure you!
Do you know that I've had a great quarrel with Roger—
I'm sure Sue set him on, for I've seen the rogue dodge her;
As I eat a few broth with our Dick in the kitchen,
Says Roger, our Madge is so woundy bewitching,
I believe I should wed her, she's quite to my taste,
If it va'nt for that dropsy which swells her fine waist:
It's a pity that them there disorders should teaze us,
And spoil such a wench, who was born but to please us.
He would a gone on—for he'd just begun barely,
But I fell in a passion, and scolded him rarely.
Then says Roger, says he, now dear Madge do be gracious,
Let your breath cool your porridge, don't be so voracious!
You impudent feller, says I, then, how durst you,
A'ter all you have said, be surpris'd if I curst you.
We shou'd had some more words, had not Cicely Brady
Kept bawling like thunder—Here, Roger, my Lady
Has been wanting you, man, for I'm sure 'bove an hour—
Then Roger run off, like a cat from a shower.
Old Tabby Belweather last night had a stroke!
This affair has thrown all in a serious quandary,
Our folk say as how she came down here to marry:
I saw her next day in the bed lye a gasping,
As pale as your shift, and she shook like an aspen;
This misfortin wou'd sure make a werry great rout,
But we're sworn to be silent, and dare not speak out.
A Doctor's been here, a fine man, though a stranger,
And said “This here Lady's in no such wast danger,
“For I hope by some dipping and medical arts,
“To restore all her tones, and to brace up her parts.”
Poor thing!—if these desperate doings should ruin her—
And who knows but it may, for they now talk of stewing her.
Oh! the palsy's a terrible ill I assure you,
It transmogrifies quite, and there's few that can cure you!
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I'm sure Sue set him on, for I've seen the rogue dodge her;
As I eat a few broth with our Dick in the kitchen,
Says Roger, our Madge is so woundy bewitching,
I believe I should wed her, she's quite to my taste,
If it va'nt for that dropsy which swells her fine waist:
It's a pity that them there disorders should teaze us,
And spoil such a wench, who was born but to please us.
He would a gone on—for he'd just begun barely,
But I fell in a passion, and scolded him rarely.
Then says Roger, says he, now dear Madge do be gracious,
Let your breath cool your porridge, don't be so voracious!
You impudent feller, says I, then, how durst you,
A'ter all you have said, be surpris'd if I curst you.
We shou'd had some more words, had not Cicely Brady
Kept bawling like thunder—Here, Roger, my Lady
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Then Roger run off, like a cat from a shower.
Ah! Agnes, I'm almost an otomy grown,
I have now got no stomach, I'm worn to the bone;
I have lost, lack-a-day, my poor appetite quite,
I does nothing but piddle, from morning to night—
Our Dick said, this morning, the family go
Next veek into Viltshire, and if it is so,
Poor I shall be left all alone by myself,
To mope like a mouse without cheese on a shelf:
You know I loves siety, though I hates strife,
And they'll force me to lead here a dissolute life.
I have now got no stomach, I'm worn to the bone;
I have lost, lack-a-day, my poor appetite quite,
I does nothing but piddle, from morning to night—
Our Dick said, this morning, the family go
Next veek into Viltshire, and if it is so,
Poor I shall be left all alone by myself,
To mope like a mouse without cheese on a shelf:
You know I loves siety, though I hates strife,
And they'll force me to lead here a dissolute life.
We'd a drum t'other night;—tho' it was not well-bred,
I listen'd awhile, and heard all that they said:
“I have lost my best heart,” “squeak'd Miss Chubb,” and for what,
“And I wow, Maem, your diamonds are all gone to pot!”
“I'm amaz'd for to hear you talk so now, Miss Chubb,
“We should beat 'em with ease had you brought forth your Club!”
“Dear Maem, we were eight—though I wink'd in your face,
“And held up two fingers, you'd not shew your Ace!”
“Ah! Sir,” said Miss Muzzy, the game we can't save,
“In such cases as these, by all means play the Knave!”
“My stars!” bawl'd Miss Tittup, “here's nobody scores:”
Then Lord Gig ax'd Miss Dy for to play at All-Fours;
And the Captain, who never says any thing rude,
Told Miss Bell he was sorry to find she was Lood.
I listen'd awhile, and heard all that they said:
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“And I wow, Maem, your diamonds are all gone to pot!”
“I'm amaz'd for to hear you talk so now, Miss Chubb,
“We should beat 'em with ease had you brought forth your Club!”
“Dear Maem, we were eight—though I wink'd in your face,
“And held up two fingers, you'd not shew your Ace!”
“Ah! Sir,” said Miss Muzzy, the game we can't save,
“In such cases as these, by all means play the Knave!”
“My stars!” bawl'd Miss Tittup, “here's nobody scores:”
Then Lord Gig ax'd Miss Dy for to play at All-Fours;
And the Captain, who never says any thing rude,
Told Miss Bell he was sorry to find she was Lood.
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Now I hopes you are well, as we both were at Brighton,
And as I am, dear Agnes, at this present writing.
And as I am, dear Agnes, at this present writing.
MARGERY COCKNEY.
Bath, 1789.
| A postscript to the new Bath guide | |